


Morning Light

by hannahrhen



Series: Frostiron Fluff [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Awkwardness, First Time, Light Angst, Loki Angst, M/M, Morning After, Sexual Content, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:49:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/pseuds/hannahrhen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The harsh light of morning makes some things look bad. But Loki finds that others only look better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Light

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Communication is the Key](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010579) by [melonbutterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/pseuds/melonbutterfly). 



> Was missing my OTP and feeling some guilt at all the Thunderfrost I've been participating in. So, here are some snarky hot guys being stupid the morning after.

After a millennium of painful lessons, Loki had learned not to react when he woke in a strange place. It was the feel of the bed linens, and the scents that surrounded him, that caused him to keep his eyes shut when he first drifted to consciousness.

It took a moment, but the memories slid back into place. Stark, finding him in a crowd during the previous night’s revelries—the entire city seemingly out in celebration of this land’s newly elected leader. Stark was on patrol, in a way, not armored but alert to possible disturbances, to the potential for mass joy turning to misunderstanding and violence.

Loki was alert to the same. Was, in fact, anticipating it.

They hadn’t had a chance to see Stark’s fears and Loki’s wishes manifest. Stark’s taunts and Loki’s irritated retorts took a particular turn after a few moments of circling each other. When Loki found himself admiring the cut of Stark’s formal suit—how Stark himself filled it out … Well. Things had taken a _very_ particular turn.

As the memories filled in, Loki opened his eyes. Yes, Stark’s bedroom. The room was bright, now, curtains drawn open to display the city below, but soundproofed to perfect quiet. Unexpectedly quiet. Loki glanced to the other side of the bed, where an indent had been left on a cool pillow. Stark, apparently, was long gone.

The chair on the side of the bed next to Loki had a thin, charcoal gray robe draped on an arm. Black slippers were tucked between the legs, and Loki cocked his head—they looked new, and his size, or close enough to it. His mouth settled into a line. Stark obviously had done this before, and more than a few times.

With a breath, Loki rose from the bed. Considered donning his own clothing again to spite Stark and his _whore’s-gifts_. Another quick look confirmed that his shirt and trousers from the night before had been folded and laid carefully on a table in the corner. He assumed his underthings were demurely placed beneath.

Eyed the robe again. Well. It _would_ be easier.

And, ah, yes. The slippers fit perfectly.

He found the bathroom again, having ransacked it the night before for lubricant that Tony had gasped was “there—in there—it’s _in there_ ” with a hand flailing desperately somewhere in the little room’s direction. It, too, had been tidied, and—Loki snorted—the bottle of lubricant was still out, displayed—proudly?—on the counter next to the sink.

It had been decidedly fuller the night before.

He rinsed out his mouth, splashed water on his face. Looked at himself briefly in the mirror. He looked, of course, the same. Stark’s smattering of bite marks was mostly faded. Appearance eternal—close to eternal. And, yet—something was different, some quality to his expression. Loki grimaced. Recognized his own stupidity, his ever-present ability to disappoint himself.

And, of course, recognized he had to do something about his hair, which was the most distinct souvenir of last night’s activities. He’d discovered that Stark liked—loved—pulling it while he was fucking Loki from behind. Perhaps loved even more twisting his hands deep into it while being taken, later, on his own back, keeping Loki unsettled as he tried to fuck Stark into compliance.

He brushed his fingers through his own hair—had a twinge of leftover pleasure as he felt the tangles hold, and then nudged the strands loose with his own magic. One pass, and he was fully restored to his usual appearance, hair straight and smooth and falling just to his shoulders. To the dark gray cloth of the robe.

Yes, this particular shade suited him. He wondered if Stark had a closet with identical robes in different colors, a rainbow of coverings for his countless bed partners. Found the thought freshly soured his mood. Realized he’d allowed himself to be made a conquest by—

What Stark even _was_ remained beyond Loki’s comprehension. But he wished sorely they had gone to neutral ground. Now he would have to stay long enough to regain some superiority over Stark—perhaps to fling this covering in his face—before he could depart and, ideally, never see the mortal again.

The voice of Stark’s disembodied servant chose that moment to speak.

“Excuse me, sir,” it intoned, and Loki didn’t startle by the sheer force of his years of internal control. “You’ll find Mister Stark in the kitchen. If you wish to.” Loki hadn’t imagined the pause before the final sentence. Wondered what Stark had confided to this soulless mind. Though he supposed few secrets were kept from an omnipresent intelligence.

Stark was indeed in the kitchen.

He sat, back to the hallway entrance, hunched over what looked like a plate and mug of some hot beverage, probably coffee, pecking with fingertips at one of his myriad devices.

Loki was satisfied to see that Stark hadn’t fixed his own hair, that it still jutted up in amusing angles that matched the paths of Loki’s fingers as Stark had mouthed his cock, as well as the press of the pillow after Stark had fallen, dazed and weak-limbed, into an exhausted sleep after their third coupling.

Loki’s blood heated as those snippets of memory, those details, slipped back in. Remembered the last time, pressed up against Stark’s back as they lay on their sides, sliding his wet cock between Stark’s legs as he stroked the man’s own balls and shaft. Stark had said he wouldn’t—couldn’t—come again, but Loki had the urge to prove him wrong, and the combination of Loki’s slick, expert fingers, the foul words he whispered into Stark’s ear, and, finally, a hard bite to the back of Stark’s shoulder had done it.

Loki made a small noise, and, when Stark turned, the collar of his robe shifted just enough to show the purpled edge of the mark left by Loki’s teeth.

Stark didn’t look the same as he had early the previous night. Tired, certainly—dark circles under his eyes and pallid skin, shiny with oil. Hair, yes, pointing in every direction. And a pretty, red suck mark between the line of his jaw and the apple of his throat.

He also wore a stupid smile.

Loki wanted to pull back, to regroup for a moment, but he didn’t. Stark was just another mortal, barely worthy of Loki’s concern. So Loki raised his head and walked into the room, taking measured steps toward the kitchen bar where the human was seated.

“Morning,” the man said.

Loki didn’t sit. He did echo Stark’s greeting, while continuing to look the man over. Was himself surveyed, head to toe, before Stark said, “Looks good on you—thought it would.” Scratched at the stubble on his chin with his free hand as his brown eyes returned to meet Loki’s regard. “I keep those in the guest room Rho—a friend of mine uses, in case he ever needs a place to stay. He has big feet, like yours.” At that, Stark actually _winked._ Loki considered snapping at him, at the arrogance, but held his tongue.

At the ongoing silence, Stark’s expression dimmed a bit. “Anyway." He set the device on the counter. "Glad to see they fit.”

Loki nodded and gave a sound of assent. Tony’s robe was the same shade—not a hue as compelling on him, no. Stark seemed to appear better in browns or pale blues. Reds. Yes, reds. But apparently he liked that color.

The slippers were identical to the ones Loki wore.

“Stark—”

“Yeah, I know. What were we thinking, mistake, blah, blah, blah.” He turned back to his plate, waved at a point across the room, toward the kitchen proper. “Coffee’s over there. I left a mug for you. And there are bagels in the bread box. Anything you want is in the fridge.” He gave Loki a quick look. “Help yourself, and you can leave whenever you’re ready.”

That was disappointing, but …

Fine. If he needed to be the bigger one between them, he would play that role. He slid onto the stool next to Stark’s, rested his elbows on the counter surface. Forced himself not to look away. “Is that what you want?”

The man reached for his mug, recently filled and still steaming. Took a long, noisy sip as he inadequately hid that he watched Loki from the corner of his eye. Swallowed, and still kept Loki waiting for his answer.

Finally, “What I want … is to finish this coffee. Maybe have more of it.” Not promising. Stark turned, then, toward him again. Made a show of squinting at Loki’s hair, his face, the lines of his neck and shoulders. “Then, I want to clean myself up so I look half—an _eighth_ —as good as you do, Jesus, when you just rolled out of bed, you asshole.” Loki tilted his head down, but he knew Stark still caught his little smile. “Then, I want JARVIS to preemptively tell everyone to leave me the hell alone today—all day.” Oh. More promising. “And I want to go back to bed with you and fuck you, and have you fuck me, in every way we can think of and as many times as we can manage, for as long as we can, until I’m bored of sex and sick of looking at your perfect face.”

Loki covered his mouth with a hand. It wouldn’t do for Stark to see how his smile had grown.

Stark glanced back down at the mug in his hand. Asked, with a laughable attempt at being casual, “How long do you think that’ll take?”

Loki cleared his throat and worked very hard to banish the grin from his face. Knew from Stark’s reaction he had nowhere near succeeded. Took a breath, pretended to think, and answered with his proudest tone, “Oh, much longer than just one day, Stark.” Paused for effect. “You should inform your servants accordingly.”

Got a chuckle for that, and then a long, considering look. Loki returned it as long as it was comfortable, and then shifted from the seat, in search of breakfast and coffee.

And, if he refilled Stark’s cup for him, well … patience had never been one of Loki’s strengths.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr](http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com).


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